Zephyr
by Mac1
Summary: Murders seemingly unconnected tax the skills of the night shift. Trust has been broken, a child grows up, and the wind changes.
1. So It Begins

  
**Author's Note:** This is the first chapter in a story that I was challenged to write by a fellow writer in the CSI Fandom. Many thanks go out to Lauri, Angie, and Laeta for their paitence, information and beta skills. Feedback is always appreciated.   
  
Chapter One  
  
__

The board was set. The master had selected the players and knew who would be sacrificed to attain the goal- the ultimate prize. The Queen that he regarded so highly was nearly within his grasp. All he had to do was make the first move and take full advantage of it. 

He stepped out into the street amidst the hustle and bustle of tourists and natives. The honking horns and shouts from people faded into the background as he walked. Daylight streamed in around him as the cloud cover broke overhead and he smiled. The first sacrifice had been marked months earlier. Everything was known about him. Habits, favorite activities, medical history- everything. All of which was known by only two people, except the date of his expiration. There just had not been time to figure out when the time was right. At least not until last night. 

He watched silently as a man of athletic build cheerfully tipped his bowler hat and greeted a woman entering the hotel as he exited. It was easy to keep track of his pawn. The decidedly English manner in which he carried himself, the bowler, and the umbrella that he swung as he walked were a dead give away; all clues that this man was indeed the one the master was after. 

Whistling a light tune, he moved through the throng with ease and observed his prey entering a shop. 

***

The smell of fine leather and wood wafted about the store, giving the store a feel of comfort and hospitality. There was also a quality to the main area of the costumer's place- one that was of an era not so long forgotten. The walls were charmingly decorated with turn of the century outfits. The costumes along the far wall screamed of the modern styles and tastes of many members considered the youth of the day. Period costumes seemed to be the main focus with jewelry, wigs, and walking sticks creating a meandering timeline within the store. 

"Hello, welcome to Morphy's. May I help you find something?" an overly eager teen asked. 

"I'm looking for a special outfit." 

"What is the theme you're looking for?" 

"To tell you the truth I haven't a clue. Freddie forgot to mention any theme. I assumed that it was anything goes." He paused for a moment before continuing, "I was supposed to meet Freddie here, but I was delayed and couldn't get a hold of him. Oh dear, I do hope I didn't miss him." 

"I don't recall any customer by the name of 'Freddie', sir." 

The man laughed heartily. "Of course you wouldn't. Freddie is just a nickname. His real name is Timothy Marks. He's about my height, sandy brown hair, wears wire-rimmed glasses, and always has an umbrella with him. He might've been wearing a bowler that matched his umbrella." 

"Then you just missed him, sir. Mr. Marks left about twelve minutes ago." 

"Damn! I'm just going to have to take a stab in the dark then. What type of costume did he choose?" 

The clerk led him toward the back of the store to a rack of normal clothing. "Mr. Marks said that the theme was British television shows. I believe that he said something about finally getting a chance to dress like his hero." 

"John Steed, yes, of course. You wouldn't by any chance have anything more," he paused for a second trying to find the appropriate word. "More bohemian? But also fits the theme." 

"Bohemian? I'm not sure, but I can check with the owner. He might know of something that would be more to your liking." 

The clerk left him to gander at the rack of costumes. A couple of minutes later, he was approached by an elderly gentleman wearing a black velvet smoking jacket over a white shirt with a ruffled front and sleeves. The younger man stood back observing the two. 

"I apologize for the delay. My assistant wasn't sure what you meant by 'bohemian,' Mister-" 

"Carrados, Herbert Carrados." 

"The event's theme is British Television, correct?" 

"Indeed. My friend, Mr. Marks, was in a short time ago and selected something from over here." 

"Ah yes, the Avengers enthusiast. Which genre would you like to be cast into?" 

"I was thinking of something a little more recent than the 1960s, but not too recent. Maybe something in science-fiction?" 

"With a bohemian twist? Hmm. Ah, I know just the costume, Mr. Carrados. This way please." The owner waved his hand as he walked to the other side of the store. He opened a battered blue door and escorted Carrados inside. "James, mind the front, will you?" 

"Yes, sir." James started to salute when the bell jangled again as another customer entered. James rushed to greet the newcomer. 

Turning back to Carrados, the owner rubbed his chin. "Now, where is that dummy? Ah, yes." He strode to one of the changing rooms and pulled out a tall dummy wearing a brown fedora, long, brown, bohemian style coat, and dark brown, knee high leather boots. "How does this strike you?" 

"That is exactly what I was looking for, but there's something missing, isn't there?" 

"Quite. Yes, you're right. The scarf is missing. We have various lengths and patterns, of course, on the shelves behind you. I recommend the earth tones, myself." 

"That will do nicely. What's the longest one I can get?" 

"Eighteen feet in earth tones. The shades of purple goes as far up as twenty-four feet." 

"Very well, I'll take it and the eighteen foot scarf. I'll also take the Dalek, if that is possible." 

"Trying to win the best costume contest?" 

"Of course," Carrados smiled broadly. "Besides, what would the Doctor do if one of his arch enemies wasn't chasing after him?" 

They laughed and the owner drew up the sale and Mr. Herbert Carrados left the store after arranging for the Dalek to be delivered to his hotel room the next day. 


	2. Shall We Dance?

**Disclaimer:** I forgaot this last time. I do not own CSI and never will. This is intended for entertainment purposes only. 

Author's Note: Man thanks to my betas, you guys don't know how much I truly appreciate you. 

Chapter Two  
Shall We Dance? 

Five silhouettes momentarily stood in the doorway, observing the scene. Setting the stage for them, a man lay dead in the large ballroom. The heaviness of the atmosphere surrounded them, swirling along the floor and around their feet. The room reeked of alcohol and steak dinners. Streamers and confetti littered the floor giving a pseudo-festive appearance. Not even an hour ago, the room had been filled with music, dancing, and laughter. Now, it was deserted of all its patrons save one. 

Nick, Warrick, and Sara moved to one side of the doors and donned their gloves. Catherine started to follow suit when she noticed that Grissom seemed transfixed on something. She followed his gaze to a large metallic object that looked like a mutated saltshaker. 

"...som! Earth to Grissom!" 

Grissom started at the sound of irritation in her voice. There was something that he could not put his finger on, something that sent a flare of warning up in the back of his mind. 

Catherine looked at him expectantly. "Well?" 

"Right," Grissom mentally shook his head to clear his mind. "Nick, Sara, process the body. Warrick, start processing the room; Catherine-" 

"Catherine. Grissom." Detective James Brass approached them. This was the first time the entire team had managed to get past his watchful eye. "The victim's name is Timothy Marks, age 39. No one saw anything. He was alive when the lights went out. Lights came back on and he was on the floor, dead. We've also got reports of theft. Three wallets, a purse, and three necklaces were taken during the blackout." 

"Excuse me, Detective Brass? There's a call for you at the front desk." The young bellhop who interrupted the briefing looked past the two investigators into the room, his face turning pale as he observed Nick and Sara photographing the corpse before the coroner's office bagged it. 

"Shall we dance?" Grissom asked as he turned to his companion and gestured to the spot where Nick and Sara stood. Catherine smiled at his soft remark. She had missed working with Grissom. Okay, technically, she worked with him everyday, but they rarely worked on the same case anymore. Most of all, she missed his sense of humor. 

"Looks like a knife wound to the heart," David said when they approached. 

Grissom nodded his head to acknowledge the information. "Sara, go with the body." 

Sara nodded and packed up her things and left, leaving the others to process the rest of the room. 

***

"He was poisoned, shot, and stabbed?" Warrick asked after filling his coffee mug and turned to face the other two in the room, disbelief written on his face. Warrick and Nick had just returned momentarily from the hotel and dropped off their evidence. Sara was already waiting for them in the lounge to hear from the rest of the team. 

"That's what Doc Robbins told me," Sara answered taking a sip. "So what did you guys find after I left?" 

"A knife and a discarded outfit were found in a large metal container. Catherine is waiting for the clothes to dry. Warrick and I found way too many fingerprints." 

"Have you guys seen Catherine?" Greg's voice interrupted as he popped his head into the break room in search of the senior female. 

***

Grissom looked at the metal container he had spotted almost immediately at the scene. There were no fingerprints to be found inside or out. He picked up a magnifying glass and looked closely at the edge of the object. Selecting a pair of tweezers, he pulled the threads that caught his attention, put them in an envelope, and tagged it. 

"Grissom, have you- Cool!" Greg's voice echoed through the silent lab. 

"Have I what, Greg?" 

"Oh, have you seen Catherine recently? I have the results from the stains she found on the clothes," Greg explained. "Is this what I think it is?" 

"Did you try paging her?" Grissom asked ignoring Greg's obvious interest in the object he was examining. 

"Yeah. She's not answering her cell and no one is answering at her house," Greg replied still eyeing the object of Grissom's inspection. Archie had told him what it was a while back when the public broadcast station ran several episodes of the show during a pledge drive. 

"Strange. Linds-" Grissom stopped talking as he remembered where Lindsey was. He set down the magnifying glass and sealed envelope on the bench. On his way out, he took the results that Greg still held before walking out, "Thanks, Greg. I'll make sure she gets this." 

***

The gentle breeze stirred her hair, causing several locks to fly into her face. She could feel the warmth from the sun on her skin as she stood by the wooden fence. Daisies, dandelions, and bluebells covered the rolling fields. The songs of birds filled the air, accompanied by the sound of a nearby babbling brook and the rustling of leaves in the wind. It was a perfect day to go riding. 

As she stood drinking in the scenery around her, a milk chocolate steed approached her. He nudged her shoulder as a voice on the wind gently whispered her name. Ignoring the oddly familiar voice, she mounted the horse and they took off at a gallop. Her hair floated back and she began to see the ground fall away as she rode up into the clouds. 

"Catherine." Grissom finally found his missing co-worker on his office couch. This wasn't an unusual place for him to find her. In the past, she had taken to grabbing short catnaps here, but that was before everything happened. He leaned closer to her ear, his breath stirring a few strands. "Catherine, it's time to wake up." 

"Horses can't talk," she mumbled sleepily. Grissom never knew that she talked in her sleep. In fact, he never knew her to be this tired so early in a shift. Glancing at his watch, he realized that it was actually later in the shift than he thought. He moved to try again, this time poking her shoulder. 

"Catherine, I got those results from the clothes you wanted." This time his words sunk in, Catherine's eyes opened immediately in shock, and her head just missed connecting with his. Grissom stood up from his squatted position and waited for the initial wave of adrenaline to wear off before handing her the report. "The blood stains came from our victim." 

"How long was I out?" she asked after reading through the analysis. The nap and adrenaline in her system had woken her up enough to focus on the case, but part of her just refused to wake up completely. The clock on the wall ticked behind them, never stopping to allow her the wishful thought that she had only just closed her eyes before Grissom's wake up call. 

"I don't know, about half an hour. Greg spent twenty minutes looking for you before coming to me." 

"I'm sorry; I only meant to lie down for ten minutes. I'll just go-" 

"Catherine, go home," Grissom interrupted. His guilt, although not evident on the outside, plagued his mind ever since he found her in his office sleeping. He knew Catherine well enough to see the worry that none of the others could. Although it rarely appeared that she worried about anything, she was a mother- and that meant she worried constantly about Lindsey. 

"No, I'm fine now. Just need some caffeine to shake loose a few cobwebs, that's all." 

"Go home," Grissom insisted. "You should've taken today off." 

"Grissom, really, I'm fine. Lindsey called before I went to sleep. She got there just fine. Everyone was waiting for her when her plane landed." Catherine placed a hand on his arm to assure him of her words. He took her hand in his and helped her stand up. She proceeded to turn and fold up the light fleece blanket that he kept in the office before looking back at him. 

Grissom looked at her skeptically then sighed. She would not go home, no matter how much he insisted. "Okay. Go get your coffee, then meet me in the bay." 

Catherine nodded, yawning as she left his office heading for the only drink that would wake her up. Grissom watched her leave before looking down at his desk. He had forgotten to turn the page on his calendar. He flipped the page over and kicked himself for not realizing that Lindsey was going to be gone for the rest of the summer. The date stared back at him and underneath, written in capital letters, was a reminder to send Catherine home at the beginning of the shift. Grissom left the office and made his way back to the metal object he had been examining before Greg's interruption. 

***

"But Lindsey didn't like having the flight attendant checking on her every ten minutes," Catherine said smiling for the first time that morning. It was six in the morning, and Grissom declared that it was time for a briefing. Like most plans, it started out smoothly until Sara asked about Lindsey's trip. 

Grissom looked down at his notes to figure out the best way to finish the meeting without seeming callous. He did not have a chance to talk with Al yet about the details of the post mortem, but he had over heard Sara and Nick say something about the killer wanting to make sure this person was dead. 

"So what killed our victim?" Catherine asked, suddenly deflecting the onslaught of questions that the younger CSIs were asking. Catherine had spied the look of momentary irritation in the eyes of their supervisor. She suppressed the yawn that wanted to escape as she received three separate answers. 

"Poison." 

"Stabbed in the heart." 

"Shot in the heart." 

All three answers came at once. Nick, Sara, and Warrick grinned as though they had prepared the simultaneous answer earlier, knowing that Catherine had not heard the cause of death yet. 

"Poisoned, stabbed, and shot?" she repeated. "That's a little overkill, don't you think." The three criminalists shrugged their shoulders and waited for Grissom to speak. 

"According to the tox screen, arsenic was found in minute levels in the blood stream and a hair analysis confirms that Timothy Marks had been administered arsenic over the last few months," Grissom summarized. He briefly shared the report from Firearms Identification. 

The small caliber bullet had still been lodged in the victim's heart at the time of the post mortem. Perpendicular to the body of the bullet, the examiner found a scratch that had been made after it entered the heart. They could safely assume that the gun used was silenced. There was nothing in the database that matched the markings on the recovered bullet. The gun used had been approximately twenty feet from the victim. The stab wound was from a double-edged knife. One thing was certain: the killer knew his victim and anatomy. He or she was also very lucky. 


	3. Tough Case?

  
Autor's Note: I apologize for not updating sooner. I really do hate RL. Anyways, many thanks to my betas and to those who have reviewed. It means a lot. This has a spoiler for anyone who has not seen "Burden of Proof."

Chapter Three  
Tough Case?   


The afternoon was pleasant and bright. The one thing that she hated about working nights was that everyone else was on a totally different schedule than she was. Her dates, if they did not land on a day she was off, usually consisted of a forty-five minute lunch break at about two o'clock. Today was one of those dates. 

Catherine waited patiently in the lobby of the steakhouse. She had overslept and thought that she was going to be late for lunch. The door behind her opened and she turned hoping that he would be walking through them. She smiled broadly as he appeared holding a single yellow rose out to her. 

"Have you been waiting long?" he asked before placing a kiss on her right cheek. 

"Just a few minutes. I thought I was going to be late, again," Catherine replied accepting the proffered rose. She held the fragrant rose to her nose as he talked to the host. 

He was different from the other men whom she had dated in the past. He let the relationship go at its own pace instead of pushing it forward. What mattered to her the most was that Lindsey really liked him. Of course, the messages that he left on her machine before he left for work and holding doors for her may have been a small part of why she liked going out with him, too. 

"Are you going to stand there all day, or do you want to eat?" he teased looking at her fondly. 

Catherine started at the sound of his voice. She walked to him and gave him a kiss, "Thank you." 

Catherine and her date were led to a table and they sat down. Several minutes later, they ordered their meals and chatted about the week that had passed since their last meal together. 

*** 

_ "Tough case, huh?" _

"Uhh, Give me a straight-ahead murder any day." 

"Well, you wouldn't be human if it didn't affect you." 

"I heard about you and [pause] Sara." 

"Sara, you know. She gets very emotional." 

"Are you in denial? No, that's. No, no. Way too analytical. Wow, you got burned bad, huh. Welcome to the club. I've- I got third-degree burns from my marriage. Happens to everybody. Everybody just moves on." 

"Good. LetÕs move on." 

"But you have to deal with it. You have to deal with it first. You have to deal with it. You have to deal with it before it goes away. 

"You are the supervisor. You have responsibilities; people are making a family around you whether you like it or not, whether you give them permission or not. 

"We don't have to go to the Grand Tetons together. Just every now and then you gotta lift your head out of that microscope." 

- - -

Grissom woke up suddenly; he hated dreams like that. Especially the ones that used his own memories. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and pulled a grey t-shirt over his head. His alarm clock went off at that moment. He also hated waking up before the alarm. Shutting off the alarm on his way out, he thought back over the past shift. 

After the briefing, he told Catherine to go home early and for once, there was no argument from her. He stayed behind to do some paperwork. Warrick and Nick went back to the hotel ballroom leaving Sara to take whatever case came up. 

Sara had stopped by at eight-thirty to see if he wanted breakfast. He was tempted to accept her offer but in the end decided to go home instead. An hour and a half later, he closed the last file in his inbox and left. 

It was now four in the afternoon and he wanted to talk to someone. As he dialed the familiar number, he tried to find something to eat. 'I need to go shopping,' he thought as he poured the last of the orange juice into a small juice glass. 

"Hi, we're not in right now. Leave your name, number, and a short message. We'll get back to you if we feel like it." 

The answering machine. 'She must have changed the message this week,' he mused. "Cath, it's, uh, it's me. I was hoping you wanted to grab something to eat, but... Anyway, I'll see you tonight." 

Grissom turned his phone off and tossed it on the couch. It seemed that every time he called her she was either going out, or already out. In his mind, he knew that was a good thing given how introverted she had become during the months following Eddie's death. A small part of him felt guilty that someone else was pulling her from her self-erected shell. Deciding to not go down that road again, Grissom opted to shower and pick up groceries for the week. 

*** 

Catherine's mind kept wandering back to the case. It was one of the few times that the whole team was actually working on the same case, but that wasn't why she kept thinking about the case. The method, or rather the methods, used told her that the killer wanted to be noticed. What seemed impossible was the way the crime scene had apparently been staged. Things just didn't add up; something had to be missing or hiding under their noses. She stared at her dessert, idly moving it around the plate as she mused. 

"Am I boring you?" 

"Wha- no, George. It's just been a long week." 

"Cath, it's only Monday. If it's already a long week, maybe we should take a weekend and do nothing together." George Watson was a handsome, easy-going man. He was always quick to laugh and smile. "Tough case come in last night?" 

"Yeah. I'm sorry; I just can't stop thinking about it. Guess I've been poor company today." 

"Nonsense." George took her hand in his and looked at her, his blue eyes twinkling with laughter. "Time spent in your company is always time well spent." 

Catherine chuckled; she could not help it. George was good for her in many important ways. One of which was that he understood what it was like to have a job that could consume all your attention at a moments notice. 

"Come on, let's get you home. You need your rest if you're gonna catch the bad guys." He signaled for the check and requested some containers for their leftovers. 

Two and a half hours and nap at George's townhouse later, Catherine waved good-bye to George as he drove off. She shut the door with a faint smile still on her lips. She set her keys on the table next to the answering machine. Looking at her watch, she had enough time to take a brief nap and shower before going in to review the case. That was when it hit her. 'Oh no. How am I supposed to get to the lab?' 

She showered and changed in record time all the while admonishing herself for being so forgetful. The message light blinked on and off waiting to be noticed. Catherine picked up the handset and started to dial the number for a cab when she saw a red digit flashing at her. She hung up the phone and pushed the button to listen to the message. 

"Cath, it's, uh, it's me. I was hoping you wanted to grab something to eat, but... Anyway, I'll see you tonight." Grissom's disembodied voice filled the silent living room. He had called several minutes after she had driven off to meet George. It was now six o'clock. She dialed his number as quickly as she could. 

The phone rang three times before he answered. "Grissom." 

*** 

The dinner crowd had arrived and the parking lot was filled to capacity, but her car was nowhere to be seen. The sun had started to sink in the sky by the time Catherine walked out of the manager's office. An hour and a half passed by and with every minute that went by, Catherine became more frantic. She had been so distracted that afternoon that she had just blindly accepted George's offer for a ride home. 

The call to Grissom had lasted only a couple of minutes and after hanging up she started to fume. Finally, she got to the point where she needed to let it all out. 

- - - 

_ "Why didn't you remind me that I had driven out to meet you?" Catherine didn't even bother to say hi, she just started yelling at the first sound of her date's voice. _

"Catherine, calm down. I looked for your car when I arrived. I didn't know you were at the restaurant until I saw you through the window." George's calm and even voice came over the line. He appreciated the fact that Catherine felt comfortable enough in their relationship to just lay into him, even when he did not do anything to deserve being the focus of her frustration. "When I saw you, I assumed you had taken a cab." 

Catherine was silent for a moment. She had taken a cab to meet him several times before, so it made sense that he would just assume that she had done so again. She still wanted to blame the nearest person other than herself, but she couldn't. It wasn't his fault that she was unable to rest during the day. She should have taken a cab instead of driving. 

"Hey, you still there?" 

"Yeah. Thank you, George." 

"For what?" 

"For listening and being willing to deal with me." Catherine felt herself become calmer as she talked to him. It felt good to have someone she could just vent out to again. 

"Hey, that's what I'm here for. Do you need a ride into work?" 

"Uhm, no. I'm having dinner with Grissom in a little bit. I'll just grab a ride home from someone," she lied. She hated lying to him, but she was not ready to let everyone in on her secret yet. 

"You sure?" Catherine could tell by his voice that he was not sure if he could quite believe her. 

"Yeah, I'm sure. Thanks for offering though." 

"Just remember, I'm only a phone call away." 

"Okay. Good night, George." 

"G'night, Cath." 

- - - 

Catherine's eyes were scaring Grissom. He had rarely seen the look in her eyes. The last time the look of complete loss had shown was when she had to tell Lindsey about her father. Grissom prayed that he would never see the look of devastation and fear again. "Cath? Are you okay?" 

"Wha-?" Grissom's voice broke the trance that she was in. She saw the worry etched in his face and knew that he thought something was wrong. Perhaps there was, but she didn't want to face it in the middle of a crowded parking lot. 

"Are you okay?" 

Catherine looked up at her supervisor for a moment or two before answering. "Yeah. It's just that I really, really liked that car. You realize that this is the second time since I came to Vegas that something of mine was stolen." 

"The second time? You didn't tell me you had something stolen before." 

"It was a long time ago," she said softly. Sooner or later, it would have to come out, but she had a puzzle to work on. Putting on a smile she said, "Come on, I need to report my car as stolen, and that's gonna take at least an hour and half if not longer." Catherine turned around, walked back to Grissom's Tahoe, and waited for him to get in. They had two and a half hours before their shift started and already she knew it was going to be a long night. 

*** 

The layout room was quiet as the two elder members of the lab examined everything in front of them. They had laid out all the facts they knew so far and none of it made any sense. All the guests had been accounted for. The night before, Nick and Warrick had examined the ballroom for any sign of a break in, or break out as the case may warrant. 

Grissom laid the evidentiary report on the table expecting Catherine to say something. A moment later she suggested, "Someone could have hidden inside that- what did Archie call it?" 

"A Dalek," Grissom said as he turned his attention back to the report in front of him. 

'A Dalek. How on earth could a mutated saltshaker give kids nightmares?' Catherine thought. She had a hard time trying not to laugh as Archie filled them in on what a Dalek actually was- a thirty some year old relic from a science-fiction television show. Archie had assured both scientists that "Daleks were dangerous creatures that wanted to dominate time and the universe." Afterwards he sheepishly admitted that it was only a television show. He then promptly left them alone after making each of them promise not to tell the others about his confession of nightmares. 

Had the others been in the room, they would have thought something was wrong between the two. However, Nick and Warrick were back at the hotel, examining the electrical power box for the ballroom in the hopes of finding something that might explain how the ballroom had been the only room that lost power. Sara was sorting through all the fingerprints that had been gathered the night before. 

Grissom observed his companion for a moment or two after finishing the report. She was studiously looking at the crime scene photos. He knew something was bothering her, but he had no clue as to what it could be. They had barely talked to each other since her ex-husband's death and every time he tried to ask how she was doing, she would just give a weak smile and say that she was doing just fine and not to worry about her. Today, when she had called him, she had sounded a touch embarrassed. Usually she would explain what had happened, but this time she was keeping the details to herself. It was as if she was hiding something. 

He knew that something had happened a few months earlier that made a difference in her attitude. She was being secretive, but she also seemed to have recovered from the shock of suddenly becoming the only parent for her daughter. Catherine never told him about her new boyfriend. Not that she ever really did, but she would always answer her co-workers questions or would beg out of breakfast with the team because she was meeting someone. This time the entire team had to learn about the presence of someone named George in her life from her daughter, and that had only happened two weeks ago. 

"Catherine?" 

"Hmm." 

"How did you get home?" 

"What were those fibers that you found on the Dalek?" Catherine asked changing the subject without looking up from the photograph of the victim's body. Grissom looked at her suspiciously for a moment. The answer was quick and evasive- not at all like the Catherine he had known for so many years. 

"Nick said that the fibers I found were yarn." 

"Yarn?" 

"Yep. Dyed wool, to be precise." It took Catherine scarcely a second to digest the information. Grissom decided that the subtle approach was not the way to go as she had avoided all questions about her life outside of work and Lindsey. "So, you and George. Things going okay?" 

Catherine stared at the photograph in her hand. She mentally winced at the quiet, yet blunt, way he asked about George. She knew everyone was curious about George, but she just wasn't ready to open up again. She was still hurting and wanted to keep one of the few things that were maintaining her sanity to herself for once. Keeping her expression neutral she responded, "Yeah." 

"That's good." Both lapsed into an uncomfortable silence that was only interrupted by the flipping of papers and sounds from outside the room. They worked that way for another twenty minutes, each wishing that something would happen to break up the mood in the room soon. 

Before it could get any more awkward in the room, Sara knocked on the door to get their attention. "Brass just called. He has another 419 at Morphy's Costumers. Says the guy was robbed- both his wallet and the safe are empty." 


	4. A Matter of Perspective

Chapter Four  
A Matter of Perspective

"Paul Morphy, age 66. Found by his assistant, James Troudeux. Says they were supposed to do inventory tonight. When he arrived, the door was locked and the lights were out. Seeing no message, he let himself in and found the body." Brass said as Sara and Catherine approached.

The words spoken in place of a greeting to the newcomers drew the attention of a tall, athletic boy. James Troudeux looked on as the two member forensic team began photographing the scene. Being a very sheltered seventeen-year-old, he had never seen a dead body in person and now he wished that he never had. He did not even know what to think.

Intellectually, he knew that his old boss and friend would never be around again; that he had died of no apparent reason, but a tiny portion of his mind kept wishing and hoping that this was all a nightmare and at any moment Paul Morphy would walk through the back room door and challenge him to a chess game.

"Mister Troudeux?" The first officer on the scene tried to attract the attention of the adolescent without much luck. Taking him by the arm, the officer (identified by her name tag as P.C. Book) turned the only witness away from the criminalists. Pained eyes of the young man looked into hers. "I know this is difficult, but can you think of anyone that would want your employer-"

"No, everyone loved him. He was-" he trailed off as tears began to form in his eyes. It didn't take much to see that the young man was about to lose his composure. Officer Book waited patiently for him to continue, but it tore at her heart to see the pain in his eyes. She had to use every ounce of control to keep herself from comforting him as she would her own child. Slowly, although no sobs could be heard coming from him, the tears gradually rolled down the youthful face. After a few minutes, he was able to speak again. "Mr. Morphy was always the ideal gentleman, even to customers that were upset with him. He used to tell me that 'one should behave as a gentleman in every circumstance, no matter the occupation or occasion.'"

Book's resolve softened as she spoke. "He sounds like he was a great man."

James nodded and laughed softly. "It took nearly a year before he would call me 'Jimmy' and even then it was very rare. I was always 'James' or 'Mister Troudeux.'"

Book smiled. The deceased seemed to have made an impression on his young employee. "Is there anything that you can think of that may have led to your employer's death?"

Her question fell on deaf ears. James had looked back to watch the real life forensic investigation taking place behind him. The two women were photographing the body and talking to each other. Snippets of their conversation faded in and out, as he observed them. At one snippet, he glared in their direction, disbelief and anger evident in his face. The younger woman was talking about a recent date as they worked. The only things keeping him from lashing out at the two officers were the questions he was being asked.

"How can they talk about their personal life like nothing unusual happened? A man's dead!" His outburst, although not loud in volume, startled the officer talking to him. Book considered his question for a moment.

She stated calmly attracting his attention, "It's a matter of perspective, Jimmy. Unfortunately, this is normal for their line of work."

* * *

The back office was stuffy and cramped. The coroner's office had just taken the body away and now both criminalists turned their eyes toward the remainder of the scene. Bathed in red and blue lights, the costume shop took on an eerie atmosphere. The two women were hardly what you would call close, but Catherine had noticed that Sara stiffened when one of the EMTs walked by her. The conversation they held balanced on the edge of personal and professional, but it worked to relax the younger woman.

Now, they divided the scene. Sara took the back of the store and the office; Catherine investigated the main floor area and the checkout counter. The counter was surprisingly orderly in comparison to the office, but nothing remarkable stood out as being unusual except the cash register. Catherine was amazed that the storeowner had not invested in newer technology to protect the cash before any monetary drop to the safe was made.

A small ivory envelope rested on the keys in contrast to the dark walnut color of the century-old register. Written on the envelope, fine black script that gave Catherine chills- Henderson Crime Lab. She had assumed that the deceased had suffered a heart attack; now, however, her instincts were shouting that something was dangerously wrong. She gingerly handled the thin envelope with her gloves and dropped it into a labeled document envelope, sealed it, then placed her initials and the date across the seal.

She dusted the register and counter and found only smudged prints. Next, she examined the partially open safe and found that it had been wiped clean. The note was the only thing of interest or value.

"Catherine? You might want to see this." Sara's voice echoed out to her. Catherine stood up and looked for her co-worker. Sara was standing in a door on the other side of the store. Sara stepped aside as Catherine approached.

Inside the doorway were dressing rooms. In what was a seating area, empty racks stood in various states of assembly. The wall beside the door played host to shelving loaded with scarves of different colors, styles, lengths, and materials. Odds and ends filled a few cardboard boxes on the floor.

One box attracted Catherine's attention. Sticking up above the miscellaneous contents, three black and silver rods topped with a sphere leaned to the right. Beneath each sphere, three silver discs decorated the black shafts. She had seen one of those just recently attached to the dome of the mutated saltshaker back at the lab.

Catherine began to say something, but all that came out was a long yawn. The sky outside lightened as morning slowly crept across the city.


End file.
